


Cold

by may_green



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, M/M, Mutual Pining, POV God (Good Omens), Post-Canon, Protective Crowley, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-16
Updated: 2019-06-16
Packaged: 2020-05-12 23:13:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19239061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/may_green/pseuds/may_green
Summary: Aziraphale doesn't answer his phone and Crowley cares too much to leave it unattended although the angel seems to avoid him meanwhile.________I'm not a native speaker, so all hail moonlite for miracling my self-translation into a better English.Any feedback is extremely welcome!





	Cold

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by ["Reluctant"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19128853) by [Guardian_Rose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Guardian_Rose/pseuds/Guardian_Rose). 
  * A translation of [Простуда](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20635499) by [may_green](https://archiveofourown.org/users/may_green/pseuds/may_green). 



“Aziraphale!”

  
After that day when he found the bookshop on fire and no trace of the angel anywhere, after he mourned over his best friend thinking him dead, the last thing Crowley was ready to bear with were the unanswered calls.  
They didn't see a lot of each other after the Apocalypse-thing which was absolutely normal. When the first euphoria of saving the world and each other faded, Aziraphale seemed to slightly withdraw into himself. Well, one could say he seems to be avoiding Crowley. So, the demon gave him space. He still casually popped in at the bookshop a couple of times and made some phone calls, but today Aziraphale didn't get the phone, and the demon became nervous. He managed to explain to himself that angel could be busy, walking, reading something terrifically interesting or talking to a customer; explained well enough to wait a whole hour before the next try. After the third, he lasted about 10 minutes before jumping into his Bentley and going there, perhaps causing an even bigger wave of traffic-chaos and not even enjoying it.

The bookshop was still there and unlocked, but no one answered.

“Aziraphale!” Crowley checked the backroom and shot up the stairs.

  
“Oh, Crowley... Hallo, dear...” angel was sitting on the kitchen floor leaning on a table, broken glass lying around him.

“What's wrong with you?” Crowley swiftly came down on his knees beside him, checking if he was unharmed. The soul-chilling fear fell back giving ground to the scorching worry.

“Oh, I don't know. I'm fine, dear, just - my head was spinning a little, so I decided to sit down.”

“On the floor. In your kitchen,” Crowley frowned. Aziraphale was shivering, and Crowley decisively reached and touched his brow. He was painfully hot. “You are ill, Aziraphale,” Crowley said softly.

“What? Nonsense! Angels don't get ill,” Aziraphale answered and tried to get up - fortunately, Crowley was close by and managed to catch him before he fell. “Just a little bit dizzy... And how did you get here?”

“You didn't answer the phone. The door was open. Listen, Aziraphale, you need to lie down and sleep.”

“Nonsense. Or maybe... you're right,” Aziraphale ran his hand over his eyes, squinting, as if the light hurt him. With the second hand he clutched at Crowley who anyway didn't think to let him go. There was something desperate in this grasp, something off with the easiness in the angel's voice. “But I'm really quite fine, you don't need to bother.”

Crowley brought him to his room, but the angel stubbornly clung to him and forced him down to the bed too.  
“You didn't have to come,” he muttered reassuringly, pressing his face into the demon's shoulder.

“Well, of course,” Crowley sighed dejectedly.

He breathed in the smell of his angel's hair and laid a bit more comfortable. The worrying didn't go away - angels indeed rarely got sick wearing their human bodies. And of course, only half-deluded Aziraphale would want him to lie so close - this understanding was burning a hole in the demon's chest. Yet he wanted it for now, and Crowley couldn't deny him.

The angel should be covered with something but it would mean moving and disturbing him while he slept... And Crowley didn’t really want to move, hence, just spreading his wings to serve as a blanket.

 

***

Aziraphale woke up and sighed, and it pulled Crowley out of slumber. The angel spent a few seconds realizing the situation: he was laying his head on the demon's shoulder, holding demon's hand across his body, covered by a big black wing.

  
“Oh dear…” he exhaled, and this unfinished exclamation sparked a slight anger in Crowley. It was not really addressed to him, just a beginning of a phrase Aziraphale got from the humans - "Oh dear Lord"- which was especially annoying because they both know that "Oh dear Lady" would have been more fitting.

  
The angel did a feckless move trying to sit up, and Crowley quickly got off the bed to give him space. His right wing, awkwardly held the whole time, ached annoyingly - the demon made a wry face and put wings away.  
“Do you feel any better now, angel?” he asked.

“Oh, yes,” Aziraphale sat, testing if his head was still spinning, then abruptly stood up and started putting his clothes right. “Just fine. Completely. As if nothing ever happened.” He looked around and quickly went to the door, obviously eager to get out of the bedroom. He was clearly in panic.

“Don't rush, angel, you might not have all your strength back yet,” Crowley followed him. At the kitchen door Aziraphale stopped, looking fretfully at the shattered glass. Crowley snapped his fingers, putting everything back in one piece on the table with a little demonic miracle.

“Thank you,” Aziraphale went to the cooker nervously and put the kettle on, obviously desperately trying to put things back to normal. “Thank you for everything. You were most kind and considerate.”

“Okay,” Crowley didn't argue with the compliment this time.

“But you really didn't need to check on me like that,” Aziraphale spoke on, looking sidewise.

“Actually, I did,” Crowley suddenly felt himself dreadfully tired. “I needed to know that my best friend was fine,” he said firmly, emphasizing the "best friend" part - a conquest he wasn't going to give away. “So after that call…”

“I called you?” Aziraphale suddenly interrupted.

“No, I did,”

“Oh, Heaven. Sorry. I was not sure - I wanted to ask you a question at some point yesterday,” Aziraphale sighed.

“What question, angel?”

Aziraphale smiled faintly and pathetically, speaking as if a mockery of himself: “What was it like, Falling?”

“What?” Crowley hardly kept himself from a nervous laughter and with a scoffing amazement put up his brows. “Did you really think…?”

As usual, a simple memory put a lightning of pain through all his being. The endless fall through the cold and fire, scorching and tearing apart every part of you, a torture that distorts you forever - and the infinite pain of the sudden loneliness and abandonment. He willed himself back to the present, in the small and light kitchen where Aziraphale was still looking at the kettle slowly starting to boil. His embarassed look put out the angry fire in the demon immmediatly. Crowley exhaled and said sad and softly: “It's nothing like Falling. It was just a cold, angel.”

Somewhere deep in his soul he hoped, if it came to that, he would be able to soften that torture of lonelinnes for Aziraphale. In those dark moments, he thought it would be the sole chance for his love to ever prove useful. Crowley smirked - didn't it kind of happen yesterday? His frightened angel, pulling him close on the pillows... however, he didn't wish such a fate for Aziraphale, even if it brought the angel into his arms. And now he said another thing he believed even more firmly.

"She would have lost Her reason at all if She let you Fall, angel".

"Oh, don't say that, you can't," Aziraphale exhaled with reproach.

"Yes, I can. You are -" Crowley stopped to not let too many words come out. "You are the holiest and the most divine creature in Heavens. And if She doesn't love you above all the fucking jerks like Gabriel and Michael, then She is completely mad."

Aziraphale looked at him for some moments, opened his mouth to say something, closed it again, put the kettle off and said with a fake lightheartedness:

"Recently I haven't found the concept itself so much frightening, though. Just the process. But this silly question could have only insulted you, obviously."

"So, before you push me out with insults, answer please; do you really feel better or just say it to get rid of me? I'd like to know if I need to get you off the floor again,” Crowley said with a fake smirk, crossing his arms on his chest.

"Much better," Aziraphale gave a small smile. "And now, thanks to you, I know it only takes to have a good nap and may be some lemon tea." He smiled, but the smile was not even half as bright as his genuine one.

“Okay then,” Crowley put on his glasses and went to the door. “Drink your tea and answer your phone, angel.”

“Crowley,” a soft sigh behind him made him stop. “I'm sorry, dear. You came here all worried and caring, and I’m acting right now like an ungrateful fool. I'm just ashamed of my ridiculous behavior yesterday.”

“You were not ridiculous. You were ill. And what are you afraid of? That I would tempt you while you're asleep?”

Crowley regretted at once that he let the disdainful comment pass through his lips. Now Aziraphale will push him even further away.

“Just how safe and homish I feel beside you."

Crowley turned around abruptly. Aziraphale came very close to him, looking to the floor.

“But that's ridiculous to be afraid of, isn’t it?” Aziraphale lifted his head and looked Crowley in the eyes, then, as if nothing were more natural, leaned in and kissed him, soft and gentle.

It was not only a human gesture. Aziraphale put away all the walls that always separated living things and reached for the demon with all his being. For the first time ever, there were no barriers between them, no shields. It was an offer of the most profound closeness, the perfect intimacy, which humans can only dream about looking into their beloved eyes, but which for the creatures of other nature is really possible .

“I suspect I am a bit feverish today too,” the demon gazed upon the angel and grasped him reflexively at the shoulders.

“No,” Aziraphale swept his fingers tenderly around Crowley's face, then closed him in his arms and pressed his cheek to a demon's shoulder. “You are not. But in case you are, you shouldn't go anywhere, dear.”

Crowley heaved a sigh, pressed him closer and buried his face in his angel's hair.

“Then I should probably stay.”

 

 

Somewhere in very certain places over the city, at this time - and for some time later, the nightingales sang, because She looked upon those two, smiling. She fully agrees with Crowley - not to love Her angel, Her Aziraphale, would be ungodly foolish. It was more complicated about Crowley himself. Even She had to obey the rules She created, for the game would be no fun otherwise. And the bereavement of the Divine love was clearly a part of the very demon's job description. So, She let him Fall thousands of years ago and turned him, by a new rule, into Her joker, and by an effort of Her Divine will turned Her back on him. But She didn't wish his life to be totally loveless. And She bent the rules just enough to give him a chance. Now She was pleased - these two put it to good use. Finally.


End file.
